


Breakwater

by arrow (esteefee)



Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Plot What Plot, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-19
Updated: 2007-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/arrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray needs something from Fraser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakwater

The pressure had been building since the moment they'd locked Bella Cortland behind bars for murder.

Actually, Fraser mused, perhaps _building_ was the wrong term. _Threatening_ seemed more appropriate—Ray's fury had hummed beneath every movement, every word, since they'd left the station house, but there were as yet no real outward signs.

The atmosphere surrounding him brought to Fraser's mind the worst blizzards of winter, the type that caught even long-time inhabitants of the Territories unaware and unprepared—the onset was that sudden and deadly. But Fraser was an experienced Ray-watcher. He knew the man, both as the recent recipient of Ray's physical affections, but also as a close observer for years before that. Now that they were away from the station and any need for professionalism, Fraser assumed Ray's temper would soon break, either at the expense of his property, or possibly his knuckles against some wall.

Fraser was there to minimize the damage.

Ray paced, apparently too wound up to sit, and drank from the beer in his hand while muttering incomprehensibly. Fraser automatically divested himself of his brown uniform jacket and accouterments. He then fed and watered Diefenbaker, who curled up by the wall next to Spud's tank.

Dief had known from the first that the little girl was dead, Fraser realized now. Usually _too_ communicative, the wolf had let out a single, plaintive whine when nosing about the girl's room, and had been depressed and silent ever since.

It took Fraser and Ray two agonizing days of detective work to catch up to that truth. Ultimately, it was Dief who had led them to the small, deep grave in the woods where the girl's stepfather had tried to bury his wife's sin.

"Fucking bitch..." Ray was muttering now, still pacing, making rigid gestures with his free hand.

Though Fraser wouldn't use that term aloud, he agreed the woman was inhumanely vile and calculating.

"How could she do that to her—? And those fucking crocodile tears, looking so worried. 'Where's my little girl?'" Ray mimicked savagely, a heartbreaking catch in his voice on the final word.

"She fooled me as well, Ray," Fraser said quietly, daring to approach.

"Yeah, but you're a...you," Ray said. The words _boy scout_ hovered unspoken. Fraser stopped, momentarily insulted, but the pain in Ray's voice subsumed his hurt.

"Fuck! Fucking fuck!" Ray went to the kitchen and put down his empty, then yanked open the fridge so harshly it rattled. "Two days! Two fucking days and she was...she was dead the whole time." Ray slammed the bottle down against the very edge of the counter to pop the cap, which went flying with a muted clink.

"Yes. We were already too late." What other response was there? Ray had been obsessed the past forty-eight hours, ever since the call had come in about the missing little girl. Pictures of her charming face had been distributed to every department, and her big brown eyes had fired more than one person to participate in the investigation. Everyone at the station had been devastated when they broke the sad news.

Fraser moved forward, trying to corral his partner, but Ray was having none of it, and pushed him aside to continue his pacing.

"No goddamned point! How can I do this when there's just no point, when they just keep—" Ray broke off to pour most of his beer down his throat.

"There is a point," Fraser said quietly. "You know it. The point is justice."

Ray shot him a look, the blue eyes electric in warning.

Fraser responded, determined to push. "'The dead cannot cry out for justice; it is a duty of the living to do so for them.'" he said. "Now Lily's friends and the people who really loved her will at least know—"

"Fuck that noise, Fraser. It ain't enough. Not today, maybe not ever. Shit!" With the last, Ray drew back his arm and hurled the bottle, smashing it against the wall behind the television.

Dief let out a yelp, jumped through the window to the fire escape, and bolted down the metal steps.

At last the storm had broken, and Fraser moved in quickly, hoping to contain the damage. Ray fought him wildly, arms swinging out to punch, to push, and then to clutch, Ray's fingers digging so hard into Fraser's shoulders he knew he'd show the bruises. And still Ray ranted about the futility, cursing him, the stepfather, the mother, and finally, himself.

"Couldn't help her—was already too late—always too late—"

"Not always."

Ray's body buzzed under his grip. "Not on time often enough. Just not winning enough. God!" Ray pulled away again and shoved Fraser back. Fraser stumbled in the carpet but reached out, capturing Ray's wrist for balance.

Ray's hand twisted, dislodging Fraser's grip, and he pushed hard, face still red with rage. Fraser looped one foot around Ray's ankle and brought them both down. He tried to control the fall, but they both landed heavily enough to shake the floor.

After a moment of shock, Fraser heard the irate thumping of Ray's neighbor. But Ray was still too far gone to notice. He growled angrily, attempting to escape the tangle of Fraser's arms and legs. When Fraser refused to release him, Ray stared up at him hard, his jaw jutting.

Then Ray reached up with his free hand and grasped the back of Fraser's neck, fingers painfully tight in the short hairs at his nape. Before Fraser could react, Ray yanked, pulling Fraser's head down for a vicious, clumsy kiss—not even a kiss, but an attack. Their mouths were open, uncentered, and the pressure forced the edge of Fraser's sharp tooth into his own lip, cutting it.

He tried to pull away, but Ray had the advantage now—they were tangled too tightly for escape. Ray tilted his head and banged their mouths together fully, his breath exploding into Fraser's lungs.

Fraser twisted his head away. "Ray—"

Hard teeth locked on his jaw. Ray's pelvis jerked up, lunging at his hip.

Not a blizzard, then, but a hurricane, trying to spend its fury against the rocks. Fraser gave in and turned his head, offering his mouth to Ray's enraged hunger.

Passionate—Ray had always been passionate with him, but this was something darker, and Fraser was dismayed to be reminded of Victoria and the almost angry meeting of their bodies on his small cot. But Ray's anger wasn't directed at _him_ , rather at despair, at the futility of trying to save that which could not be saved, and fighting for justice when mercy had already been denied.

Ray yanked open Fraser's pants, then he released him to struggle out of his own black jeans, pushing them down over his hips to his knees. He turned onto his stomach and gasped roughly, "Do it. Do me."

Fraser balked. "Ray, I can't—" He had no lubricant; Ray had had no preparation.

"Now. Do me on spit." Ray turned his head to glare at him. "Goddammit, right now, Fraser. Give it to me!"

Hastily, Fraser pushed down his pants and spat on his palm, trying to coat himself as thickly as possible. He wasn't even hard, and had to stroke himself, trying to think of better times—Ray spread out on sunlit sheets; the first time he had kissed Fraser in the back of that pool hall in Fort Smith, beer on their lips, Ray's sly hand on his burgeoning erection.

Ray growled something. Fraser ignored him and bent low, spreading Ray's cheeks to wet Ray's opening with his mouth as best he could. Ray gave a moan, and then wiggled impatiently, pulling away.

"Enough. It's enough already."

"I can't _hurt_ you, Ray," Fraser said, panicking. "Please, let me—"

"I told you what I want." Ray reached back and touched his leg. "It's okay. Get on with it."

Fraser bowed to the inevitable and shuffled forward. He would be careful, he swore to himself.

But the choice was taken from him. As soon as he pressed close, Ray lunged backward, taking him in. Ray let out a deep groan, and then started wriggling awkwardly. The lubrication was uneven, and Fraser bit back a curse as he felt his tender tissues catching against Ray's inner walls.

Ray was mumbling under his breath, his buttocks flexing as he thrust back onto Fraser. Thankfully, once Fraser was fully sheathed the movement of his foreskin helped ease the way. He put one palm on the floor and reached around to grasp Ray's erection.

"Yes! God, need this," Ray muttered.

Here, at least, Fraser had proof that Ray wasn't in too much pain, because he was hot and thick in Fraser's hand. He stroked Ray as best he could, barely moving his hips, letting Ray do the work, letting him take what he needed.

After a while Ray pushed his hand away and started to jerk himself roughly, his moans rising. He lifted his head and turned it.

Fraser saw something in his eyes then, something of gratitude, although he couldn't understand it, couldn't abide it. But Fraser shifted his hips closer, moving deeper so he could lean down and strain for a kiss.

After only a moment, Ray turned away, his hand working furiously, his hips moving in a jagged arc. And then he dropped his head and groaned in relief, in climax. Fraser spread his hands on Ray's back, smoothing up under his T-shirt to ease him through it.

Ray shuddered and sagged. As soon as his breathing slowed, Fraser pressed his forehead to Ray's back and withdrew carefully, desperate to know if he'd caused any damage.

There was, thankfully, no trace of blood on his erection. He rose shakily and drew up his pants so he could shuffle to the bathroom. Once there he soaped himself off in the sink, letting the cool water soothe the tender crown.

He felt drained and heart sore.

"Hey."

Fraser raised his eyes and met Ray's in the mirror. To his surprise, Ray was smiling, his face relaxed. But a puzzled wrinkle formed almost immediately on his brow.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine, Ray." Fraser dropped his head and attempted to tuck himself away, but his penis was still erect, and the fabric of his starched underwear felt painfully rough.

Ray had joined him at his shoulder and was looking down.

"You didn't—?"

Fraser just fumbled mutely with his pants.

"Hey. Hey." Ray sounded concerned. But the rage and grief of earlier had drained from his face, and Fraser felt obscurely proud.

"Get those duds off and come to bed with me," Ray said, his voice very gentle.

Fraser did as he was told. The bedroom was dark, so he turned on the small bedside lamp, which lit the room with a soft glow. Ray, smelling of toothpaste and soap, followed him in soon after and got into bed beside him. His hand stroked the bruises on Fraser's shoulder, and Fraser closed his eyes.

"Looks like I got you pretty good," Ray said.

"It isn't anything."

"Yeah, it is. It's something, but I—thanks. Thanks, you know?" Ray's lips brushed over his shoulder, and his hand moved across Fraser's chest in a light caress.

Fraser shivered, his body responding automatically to Ray's touch, to Ray's lips, as it always had. As he suspected it always would, regardless how painful the circumstances.

Ray's mouth sucked at him gently, pulling his nipples into tightness. The shiver traveled down Fraser's spine and centered on his groin. Ray tugged off the sheet, exposing him, and Fraser covered his eyes with one arm, blocking the light.

He felt Ray's hand on his erection, easing back his foreskin. Ray sucked in his breath, and Fraser felt it as cool air traveling over his chafed flesh.

"Aw, man," Ray said regretfully. And then his mouth was on Fraser, so light and soft it barely registered, but the excitement of it tingled in Fraser's balls, drawing them up.

He couldn't help the quiet moan that escaped him, and Ray tightened his stroking hand below in encouragement, his gentle mouthing continuing, so wet and soft and light. The ocean's fury had calmed to foam and endless rippling waves, sensuous and warm, surrounding him, pulling at him. Fraser finally relaxed and felt it take him, lifting him up, and he spasmed within Ray's soft mouth.

Ray cleaned him as he drew away, and then he pulled the sheet over them both, flicked off the light, and landed a final stubbled kiss on the point of Fraser's shoulder.

They lay there quietly. Fraser heard a question in the silence, so he turned and pulled Ray closer until he could feel the heat of Ray's breath against his chest. The spikes of Ray's hair pricked his neck almost painfully.

It was nothing he couldn't bear.

..................  
2007.07.19

**Author's Note:**

> (The justice quote is from Lois McMaster Bujold's _Diplomatic Immunity_.)


End file.
